‘Political Prisoner’ Paul Manafort is a roommate

It’s déjà vu looking at my old inmate Paul Manafort giving his first TV interview, breaking months of silence after Covid is lucky to be released from prison and then his Pardon of outgoing President Trump. Manafort’s old friend and best friend texting Sean Hannity (“We are all on the same team”) had him on Monday night throw a pity party and promote the old Trump campaign manager’s upcoming book, Political prisoners: Persecuted, prosecuted, but not silenced.

I was celly of Manafort for a few weeks in 2019 at in Manhattan, where I’m doing tax fraud time (and where I also ended up as Jeffrey Epstein’s suicide clock inmate). And from where I sat (and slept), Paulie was almost full of trash.

“Manafort was that kind of person: One who used his charms on prisoners who kissed his ass.”

I can’t talk about Manafort’s statement in his interview about suffering in solitude, as he only spent a day there getting to the MCC before he forwarded to the general population, with you really his bunny. Manafort was not like that at MCC. The inmates kissed his ass because he was famous, didn’t fool his boss, and hoped to teach them a lesson in money laundering.

For all that, Paulie is a civilized and caring friend. That’s right, he snores and farts – and wakes up in the middle of the night to read his bible. All celery plants have their own characteristics. But I’ve endured much worse during my stay, even though the way we parted company left a bad taste in my mouth.

I vividly recall a discussion I had with him about Trump and his engaging comment, one in which I suggested that Trump should have apologized for his imprudence. mine. Manafort completely disagreed with my view, replying that he felt it was a wrong strategy. Exactly that attitude was shown in his interview with Hannity. “Poor, poor me,” like that. It was as if he had done nothing to earn what was supposed to be his seven-year sentence.

While I had to work two different jobs in prison and thus not much, Paulie was courted by a Wall Street Republican for giving bogus reports to her investors. Dan wants Manfort to make his celly, and it is rumored that he is willing to advance cash to pay a guard who can make that conversion.

Without warning me (although I knew from friends in the unit what was going to happen), Manafort left while I was at work. He didn’t consider letting me know in advance so I could find a worthy replacement before a bubble agent pointed me to “whoever”. Not cool by prison standards.

About to check on Manafort when I got back from the kitchen, I found him in Dan’s cell and asked “So Paulie! Honeymoon over? ”

“I don’t know. They moved me here this afternoon,” he said.

“Paulie! You don’t have to bullshit me. I have eyes and ears here. I know the truth.”

In a diplomatic move I’m sure he’s used hundreds of times before, Manafort shakes my hand and places his other hand on my shoulder as if to say “Ok! I’m broke but we’re still friends, right? ”

Paul’s lack of consideration is not just my way. My next bunny, Chan, washed Manafort’s clothes for him in exchange for the standard prison sentence of two packs of mackerel. Chan reports that Manafort dodged him paying until the kitchen CO gave him some free kitchen food for whatever reason, then he paid for his laundry instead of 2 off dollars for mac package at commission.

Chan rolled his eyes after Manafort left our cell and commented, “That was the last time I did that bastard’s laundry. His underwear has slips.”

For my part, the next time I went into the kitchen, I slandered the officer who gave Manafort free food, and told her he used the money to pay for the laundry. As far as I know, that was the last time she sent Paulie food.

Similarly, Rob, a kitchen worker, sold Manafort a salad from the officer’s mess he reported that Paulie had never paid for. Manafort was that kind of person: One who used his charms on prisoners who kissed his ass.

For a while, I admit he was a breath of fresh air with his notoriety and wisdom. (Manafort earned his law degree from Georgetown. And we share a common interest in American History.) But in the end, Paulie is a handy and intelligent person.

Watching him on TV go on about how his poop doesn’t stink reminds me of how his farts did.

What stood out to me in that interview was what he didn’t say: “I hid my income from the US treasury and tried to launder it through home repair contractors, and forged apply for a loan to try to get the banks to lend me millions of dollars. USD.”

I can’t believe Manafort has been targeted by enthusiastic prosecutors. I know the feeling. But in his place, I would have started the conversation openly admitting my guilt if for no other reason than to make my following statements verifiable. He didn’t do that.

Paulie will sell a few books to Trump followers and have his moment in the sun. But that doesn’t change the type of man he is: Just one of the six cottages I endured while in captivity, none of them fully realizing the fault of the ways that led them to be held captive in the wild. 60 square feet range with me from the beginning. ‘Political Prisoner’ Paul Manafort is a roommate

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